


Crash To The Ground (Fly Very High Prequel)

by yalublyutebya



Series: Formula One AU [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Car Racing, F/M, Formula One, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalublyutebya/pseuds/yalublyutebya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets following John's recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monza

**Author's Note:**

> In the timeline of ‘Fly Very High’, John was injured at Spa in 2013 - two weeks ago. Watching the Italian Grand Prix at Monza yesterday, I couldn’t help wondering where John would be right now. Proper update coming soon

It had been two weeks since John’s accident and he was still in the hospital at Spa. The first week had passed in a blur of morphine and agony, but by the second he had a better idea about what had happened - and how it had the potential to ruin the rest of his life.

The hospital was a lonely place. Only a few of the staff spoke English, and none of them had the time to sit and keep him company. He'd had a few visitors in the early days, but none of them had been able to stay for very long. His girlfriend Sarah had stayed for several days, but even she had had to go back to work eventually - and he suspected she was more than happy to do so. She’d seemed uncomfortable with his distress, remaining distant and awkward when he broke down in tears three days after the crash. He hadn’t missed the relief in her expression when he’d said it was okay if she had to go back to England.

Now he sat alone in his room, the TV a siren’s call he couldn't bear to answer. Several hundred miles away, in northern Italy, the world of Formula One continued on without him.


	2. Singapore

John had three missed calls on his mobile, and another two on his landline. As he lay in bed, propped up awkwardly on his pillows, his mobile went off again. He threw a tired look at the screen - Mike Stamford calling, again - and turned away. 

Bored of the documentary he was only half watching, he grabbed the remote, flicking idly through the channels. He paused briefly on the news channel, then kept going when his interest waned once more.

The lights of Singapore were unmistakeable when they filled the screen, halting him in his scrolling. The camera panned across the city, taking in the looming skyscrapers and the busy roads, and finally hovered over the clear outline of a starting grid. 

_Welcome to the Singapore Grand Prix, where Sebastian Vettel -_

He turned the television off quickly, throwing the remote to one side as he let out a huff of breath and covered his face with his hand. He would have given anything to be in Singapore.

He rolled awkwardly to a sitting position, his left arm - wrapped in plaster - cradled to his chest. He swung his left leg over the edge of the bed, then carefully manoeuvred his injured right leg. He snatched up the crutch which was propped against his bed and levered himself to his feet. 

The short walk to his ensuite was agonising, and by the time he'd relieved himself and staggered back to bed, he was biting back tears. He lay back against the pillows, grimacing. The near constant pain was draining, and he soon fell asleep, his mind transporting him halfway across the world to the streets of Singapore.


	3. Yeongam

“I'm so sorry, John,” Sarah said tearfully. “I really am.”

In all honesty, John had been expecting this for some time; Sarah had been distant from the moment he got home from the hospital.

“It’s okay," he said quietly. All he wanted now was for Sarah to leave.

“I just- I can’t do this anymore. Things just aren’t the same as they were.”

John bit his lip but said nothing. 

“I... I can’t be what you need right now.”

Sarah reached out for his hand, but John pulled away, looking down at his feet, at the edges of the plaster cast on his right leg. 

“I think you should go,” John got out.

He knew he’d hurt her by the somewhat stunned silence, but he couldn't bring himself to look up. 

"Okay," she whispered finally. "Okay."

He felt her shift, get to her feet, and he forced his eyes to hers.

"Goodbye, John."

"Goodbye."

She hesitated a moment longer, then turned away and hurried from the flat. 

John sat staring at the door for a little while after she’d gone, then finally dragged his gaze away. He slumped back against the sofa cushions and ran his good hand through his hair. 

He knew he should be feeling more distraught about the end of a relationship that, not so long ago, he had been thinking about making more serious - he’d even vaguely looked at rings. Now it was over, though, he couldn't bring himself to care either way, and it was horrible. 

He couldn't bring himself to care about much anymore, not even about his own apathy. He knew it was a dangerously slippery slope he was headed down, but there seemed little point making any effort to stop: his life as he knew it was over. If he couldn't drive a car anymore, what was the point in anything?


	4. Suzuka

"One more, John. You can do it," his physiotherapist urged.

He gritted his teeth and extended his legs, pushing the plate of the exercise machine backwards. He let out a hiss as he reached full stretch, before drawing his legs back carefully. 

"Well done, John," his physio said. "You’re doing really well."

He pursed his lips and gave a stiff nod. It was getting easier, but the process was nowhere near quick enough for his liking. The season would soon be over, and he was slowly coming round to the fact that he would not be back before then. 

He shifted his legs over the side of the seat, and levered himself to his feet, the physio watching him carefully. He gave a sharp inhale as he finally settled his weight on his feet, and the physio stepped forward and handed him his crutches.

"You’re doing great," she said, patting him on the shoulder.

He gave a grunt and she laughed.

"Patience. I know it’s hard, but trust me when I say you're recovering much more quickly than we originally thought."

He gave her a small smile. "Thanks."

"You’re welcome. Now, I'll see you same time, next week. And don't forget your exercises."

"I won’t."

"Good."

She walked with him to the entrance, where Harry was waiting for him. "I'll see you next week."

John nodded and hobbled past his sister, who followed him silently to her car. He managed to get himself into the front seat with minimal effort, and Harry started the car.

"Did you want to come back to mine? For a cuppa?"

"No, it’s fine. Take me home, please."

He knew by the subsequent silence that he had hurt Harry’s feelings, but he had enough problems of his own, without having to cope with his sister’s as well. Since her latest break-up with Clara, she had gone over-the-top trying to take care of John, and he just didn’t have the patience for it.

Harry dropped him at his building, and left again with a muttered 'goodbye'. John vowed to ring her later to make up for it, but for now he just wanted to get to his apartment and collapse. 

Shutting the door of his apartment behind him, he staggered to the sofa and sank onto it, letting out a tired sigh. He flicked on the television and settled back against the cushions as the news ticker rolled by. He just spotted Sebastian Vettel’s name and the news of his victory in Japan before sleep pulled him under.


	5. Buddh

He heard the news on the radio, while he was trapped in the back of a cab on his way to physiotherapy.

'And now to the sports... And Sebastian Vettel has won the Formula One world championship, making him the youngest driver to win four consecutive titles.'

He zoned out again pretty quickly, but the news hammered its way home: while he'd been recovering, someone else had gone on to win the world championship. Before his crash, he'd been a mere ten points behind Vettel, still very much in the game, but it had all come to nothing.

A month ago, he would have gone home, curled up in bed and not moved for the rest of the day. Not now. Now he was determined - he wasn't going to miss next year's fight. He was going to pick himself and he was going to work his hardest to get back into shape. He would be back in a car at the beginning of next season, no longer a spectator but a competitor - a winner, whatever it took.


End file.
